


Razor Edge of Danger

by Triangulum



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And it aint pretty, Dark Peter, Dark Stiles, M/M, Murder Husbands, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 10:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12274719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triangulum/pseuds/Triangulum
Summary: It starts with Gerard. After the clusterfuck of Stiles crashing into the kanima with his jeep, Jackson's 'death' and werewolf resurrection, Lydia and Jackson go off together, Scott goes after Allison, and Derek, broken and hurt from yet another betrayal and use of his body against his will, takes Isaac and leaves, unable to look at any of them. That leaves Stiles standing next to his battered jeep, arms wrapped around his aching ribs. No one so much as looks his way. Except for Peter.





	Razor Edge of Danger

It starts with Gerard. After the clusterfuck of Stiles crashing into the kanima with his jeep, Jackson's 'death' and werewolf resurrection, Lydia and Jackson go off together, Scott goes after Allison, and Derek, broken and hurt from yet another betrayal and use of his body against his will, takes Isaac and leaves, unable to look at any of them. That leaves Stiles standing next to his battered jeep, arms wrapped around his aching ribs. No one so much as looks his way. Except for Peter.

Stiles doesn't see Peter watching him, doesn't see the frown on his face at the fact that, even reeking of pain and showing physical signs of injury, no one bothers to see if he's okay, to check on him or ask what he needs. Once again, Stiles' needs are relegated to the back burner, and quite frankly, Peter finds that unacceptable. 

Peter purposefully lets his steps echo off the warehouse floor, not wanting to spook Stiles. Stiles jerks anyways and hisses in pain, looking at Peter with wide eyes that quickly narrow. He doesn't say anything until Peter is standing right in front of him. There's silence for a long moment, before Stiles sighs.

"Of course you didn't have the good sense to stay in the ground," Stiles grumbles. "Are you here to bludgeon me for taking part in your death? Because really dude, if you could get it over with, that'd be great."

"You seem to have been bludgeoned enough tonight," Peter says. He reaches out and Stiles winces, but doesn't pull away as Peter brushes his fingertips over his bruised cheek. Peter drains the pain he can, and Stiles slumps, the tension of holding his hurt body slipping. 

"Yeah, well, there's a lot of that going around," Stiles says. Peter just hums, his fingers still caressing over Stiles' cheekbone. Honestly, he'd expected Stiles to bat his hand away long before now, so color him surprised. "What do you want, Peter?"

"Well, to take you to a hospital to start with, though I have a feeling you're going to fight that tooth and nail," Peter says.

"Your feeling is correct," Stiles says. "I just want to go home and forget tonight ever happened."

"And that everyone let Gerard Argent slither away instead of putting him down?" Peter asks and Stiles flinches. "His stench is all over you. I'm assuming he's the one who did this?"

"Yeah," Stiles says. "Apparently even old and cancer-ridden, he can throw a punch. Figures."

Peter studies him for a moment, before snatching the keys out of Stiles' hands.

"Hey!"

"Do you really think you're in any condition to drive?" Peter asks.

"I drove here just fine!"

"A miracle in and of itself," Peter says dryly. "And I'm assuming crashing through a wall has done nothing good for your injuries." Stiles just continues to glare. "I'll make a deal with you, Stiles."

"You know what they say about deals with the devil," Stiles says.

"Cute, but I'm hardly the devil," Peter says. 

"I know," Stiles says and that does surprise Peter. Stiles snorts. "What, you think I don't understand? If someone had done that to my family, I'd have done the same thing you did."

"You helped set me on fire, Stiles," Peter points out because really, it bears mentioning again.

"You went after Scott," Stiles with a shrug. "If you'd left him out of it, I'd have stood aside and let you go to town on the Argents. Fuck, I'd probably have helped. But you just couldn't leave Scott alone."

Peter assesses Stiles, looking at him like he's never really seen him before. The ruthlessness and loyalty, yes he's seen, but he hadn't quite realized how deep it runs, and Peter is unaccustomed to not reading people right.

"Back to my deal," Peter says. Stiles rolls his eyes but doesn't interrupt. "You let me drive you home and rest for the night. In the morning, if your injuries aren't any worse, you and I track down Gerard Argent."

"And?"

Peter knows his grin is not nice and just on this side of feral.

"Why, we end his miserable life."

Stiles looks at him for a long time, weighing his options, before he nods sharply. 

"I want to hurt him first," Stiles says, eyes hard. "I don't want his death to be easy."

"Of course," Peter says. "Bloodlust looks beautiful on you, darling."

"Don't make it weird," Stiles says, but he looks pleased. He climbs gingerly into the passenger seat and motions for Peter to hurry up.

Peter drives carefully back to the Stilinski house, trying to avoid any potholes, but Stiles' jeep runs appallingly badly and it still shudders and bounces as they go, jostling Stiles' injured body. Stiles tries to keep it in, but once in a while a whimper will make it past his lips. Peter takes Stiles' hand, making him jerk in surprise, and starts the pain drain again. Stiles sighs and slumps into the seat. 

The sheriff isn't home, thankfully, so getting Stiles upstairs and into his room is a lot easier than it could be. It's mark of how shitty Stiles really feels that he lets Peter help him up the stairs and out of his clothes. He helps Stiles into a pair of well-worn sweats and an oversized police academy t-shirt before hustling him into bed.

"You're still weird," Stiles says, settling under the blankets. Peter slides in behind him, making Stiles give him a hard look. "Really weird."

"I can drain your pain while you sleep, or would you rather wake up in pain every time you go to roll over?" Peter asks.

"I hate you," Stiles grumbles, but Peter surprisingly hears his heart tick at the lie. 

Stiles settles on his back, heaving a great sigh that makes him wince, and closes his eyes. Peter had thought it would take him a while to fall asleep, especially with a predator in his bed, pressed against his side, but exhaustion and pain will really take it out of you, and within ten minutes he's sleeping soundly.

Stiles doesn't feel much better in the morning, but he doesn't feel worse either, so Peter takes it as a win. Peter's pretty sure Stiles' ribs are just bruised, as is his face and, well, most of his body really. Stiles winces when he moves, but he insists on hunting down Gerard, saying that the trail will never be fresher. Peter knows he's right, but the way Stiles moves gingerly still makes him nervous.

It's easier than Peter thought it would be to track Gerard down, though it's hard to miss his rotting, poisoned stench. He's holed up in a dingy hunter safe house on the edge of Beacon Hills, far away from neighbors, and he's alone. Peter goes in first, Stiles following behind. Peter breaks Gerard's legs, savoring his scream as they snap, and makes sure he has no weapons on him, then drops him in the middle of the living room for Stiles.

Gerard has hate in his eyes and black gunk dribbling out of his mouth. For a better person, they'd consider this existence punishment enough. Peter isn't a better person. Neither is Stiles.

Stiles' eyes are cold as he walks up to Gerard. He hides his limp well, doesn't let out a pained sound that Peter knows he wants to. Gerard watches him calculatingly, like he's finally realizing that taking Stiles may have been a mistake.

"What do you want?" Gerard snarls. "Don't you think you've done enough?"

Stiles grins, and it's not a nice look. Peter knows, he has a very similar expression.

"Enough?" Stiles asks softly. "No, no I don't think we have."

Stiles is beautiful to watch work. He uses an industrial nail gun to nail Gerard's arms and broken legs to the floor, smiling peacefully at the man's screams. The hate is still swimming in Gerard's eyes, but so is fear, and his fear smells so sweet to Peter.

Stiles brought a variety of equipment with him, including a sledgehammer, pliers, gasoline, and a lighter. He promises to use the last two when Peter is out of the house. 

Gerard's fingers are quickly broken, followed by his teeth smashed in and yanked out. Peter snaps his jaw when he screams, rips claws down his body until he's breathing wetly. His broken legs are twisted at strange angles. Stiles carves 'sinner' into Gerard's flesh, watching impassively as the wounds bleed. 

When Gerard is nothing but a blubbering mess barely clinging to life, Stiles grabs the gasoline and Peter walks out. He can hear Stiles murmuring to Gerard, though he can't make out the words. A minute later, Stiles is walking out of the house with the lighter in his hands. He flicks it on and tosses it inside. The gas ignites instantly, the whole house sure to be ablaze in minutes.

Gerard's screams are music to Peter.

"Poetic justice, don't you think?" Peter asks, watching the flames.

"We need to go," Stiles says, taking Peter by the hand and pulling him away.

They destroy their bloody clothing, changing into the spare clothes they'd left in Peter's car before heading back to Peter's apartment. Peter steers Stiles into the master bathroom, not giving him a chance to look around like Peter's sure he wants to, and strips him quickly. Stiles doesn't argue, probably aware that Peter needs the smell of gas and fire off him as soon as possible.

Stiles lets Peter wash him, and Peter is very careful of the bruising and swelling still covering Stiles' body. It makes him want to fly into a rage and destroy Gerard all over again because whether Stiles knows it or not, Peter has started to think of the boy as _his_. If there are any marks on his body, Peter wants to be the one that made them,

Stiles just watches Peter, intelligent eyes catching everything he does, until they're finished showering, back in dry clothes and lounging on Peter's couch, Stiles' head in Peter's lap. Peter is running his fingers through Stiles' damp hair, draining his aches and pains when they flare up.

"I should feel something," Stiles says finally. It's the first thing he's said since he lit Gerard on fire. "Scared, maybe? Or regretful? Bad?"

"But you don't," Peter says.

"I don't," Stiles says. "And that's what scares me."

"You're not a bad person," Peter says. He tightens his grip in Stiles' hair when the boy scoffs. "I mean it. Trust me, Stiles, I understand evil. You aren't it. He was a bad person and he deserved what he got."

"I know," Stiles says softly. "But that doesn't help that I want to do it again."

Peter hums, quiet for a moment, twisting the strands of Stiles' soft hair. 

"There are plenty of other people like Gerard in the world," Peter says finally. "Hunters, murders, rapists. We could find them."

Stiles looks up at him calculatingly. 

"We could," he says finally.

"We will," Peter says. "When you heal."

No one notices Stiles spending more and more time with Peter. Scott is preoccupied with the Argent girl and Isaac, and Stiles' dad is as oblivious as usual to what his son does. No one has any idea that Stiles spends most nights in Peter's bed. Peter hasn't done anything besides hold him and kiss him a few times, adamantly refusing to do anything else until he's 18. Stiles finds that hilarious, that Peter will murder with him, but some underage sex is a no go. 

They track down the rest of Gerard's hunters that have lingered in Beacon Hills, not smart enough to leave while the leaving's good. Sometimes they draw it out, making sure they feel the most pain possible. Sometimes they're in a hurry, ending it quickly and silently. Always after, they go back to Peter's place, shower, and Peter makes them dinner. Peter's aware it's a very bizarre routine, but it's theirs. 

The man at their feet is screaming, clutching his bloody stump of a wrist to his chest. Stiles is grinning, swinging the machete in a circle. The man had murdered his wife and child, bragged about it, then managed to get out of being prosecuted on a technicality, someone in the crime lab fucking up and ruining evidence. He'd walked free and Stiles just couldn't let that happen.

"Stiles, we aren't torturing him," Peter says. "We have dinner reservations."

"Whyyy?" Stiles whines. "Last time you said I could torture the next one."

"Yes, but then you traded that to get out of doing dishes," Peter reminds him.

"Oh yeah," Stiles says. He looks down at the man and shrugs. "Your lucky day, buddy."

He buries the machete in the man's neck, almost severing his head completely from his body.

"Where's dinner?" Stiles asks, cleaning the blood from the machete. 

"Antonio's," Peter says.

"Oh good, I'm so in the mood for pasta and garlic bread," Stiles says. "Let's go."

They leave the man's body in a deep ravine in the preserve. The wildlife will take care of it for them.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [ tumblr ](http://www.hotpinklizard.tumblr.com).


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